My Sister's Keeper (29 page)

Bonner sat, struck a long wooden match, lit a pair of oil lamps that he pulled in close to his face, and leaned forward to evaluate his reflection in a magnifying mirror set on a wire stand.

The time was near for Dane Bonner to reclaim his body.

Dipping a cotton swab into an aging glass bottle of mineral spirits, he dabbed the solution into his thick black mustache and heavy eyebrows to dissolve the glue that held them in place. Slowly the gum released the pieces of his disguise and he peeled them off one at a time, being careful not to rip the skin. Still the glue irritated his face and left a rash above his lip and eyebrows that he smeared with cold cream.

Wetting a fingertip on his tongue, he removed the dark brown contact lenses that hid his fiery blue eyes, put them away, and combed styling gel through his graying hair. After giving the cold cream one last blending, he donned a pair of designer eyeglasses and checked his reflection.

Soon. Very soon.

Leaving, he climbed into the other car parked in the garage

a silver Porsche Boxster
—
and fired up the brassy engine.

EIGHTY-FIVE MILES AWAY, Greg Walker eased off I-40 near Calypso at its intersection with US 701, turned right, and pulled up to a gas pump at a truck stop. The parking lot was overrun with tractor trailers, campers, and overnight travelers hoping to make better time driving at night. As he inserted the fuel nozzle and squeezed the trigger, he also pressed his legs together and scanned the building for a restroom. The cool air made the urgency in his bladder worse as he shuffled from foot to foot. On the opposite side of the pump, an older woman with a bold streak of gray in her hair filled the tank while a younger woman and two kids slept in their station wagon.

When the nozzle finally tripped off, Greg slapped it back on the pump, screwed the cap back in place, and loped toward the entrance holding his side. He brushed past a drifter sitting next to the door holding a sign that read
Memphis,
straightened up as best he could, and hustled as casually as possible toward the men’s room at the rear of the store.

Banging into an empty stall, he gripped the handicapped bar, closed his eyes, and released his bladder. The ground shook and the building rattled. His head jerked around as multiple car alarms went off simultaneously and people began shouting and screaming. A sprinkling of dust drifted by his eyes and settled on his shoulders as he held his position until the last of the liquid dribbled from his bladder.

When he left the restroom, the screams and blaring horns grew louder and he instantly felt the heat from the enormous fire burning in the parking lot. His shoes skidded on tiny squares of glass from the windows blown in along one side of the building. Stepping out through an opening now missing its glass, he saw men struggling against the heat trying to get close to a car on fire at an exit to the parking lot, and another man running toward the fire with a large hand-held fire extinguisher. The woman driving the station wagon rammed the car behind her, shoving it out of her way while the children in the back seat screamed.

Another explosion propelled the burning car up and backward toward the gas pumps. Flames leapt fifty feet into the air and everyone scattered for cover. The attendant hit the emergency kill switch and waved everyone away. “Get back!”

Greg ran toward the spot where he’d left the Corvette, but it was not there. He turned in a circle looking for it and ran to the middle of the parking lot searching the entire area. He turned back to the burning car and his eyes fell on the silhouette of the man inside slumped against the steering wheel—his clothes on fire—then moved down to the wheels. Polished chrome wheels.
Corvette wheels
. A tire blew and Greg began to shake. Just a little at first, then an uncontrollable violent rattling of his bones. His knees became weak and his lungs spasmed. He backed away, turned, and stumbled back into the building, snatched a cold soda and a map, tossed five dollars on the counter, and walked down the road heading back toward I-40.

Looking over his shoulder, he could see the glow of the fire and thick black smoke curling into the night sky, sparks shooting upward like fireflies.

As fire trucks and police cars wailed by, he flipped his collar up, crossed the highway, and stuck his thumb out.

40

A
S THE WHITE LIGHT FADED I could see the doctor and nurses working around me. I lay lifeless on my back with my arms at my sides, my pants and shirt gone. A doctor scrubbed two paddles together and placed them on either side of my bare chest. Everyone stepped back.

“
Clear!”

A tone sounded and as the capacitors discharged, the lights dimmed and my body jolted off the gurney. I had the revolting sensation of being sucked through a tunnel and slammed into a concrete wall. Then it happened again.

“
Clear!”

Again, the capacitors discharged. Lightning streaked through my brain and my heart vaulted. Faces and events streamed by. Mom, Dad, and me. My sister jumping in the surf at the beach. Sydney at thirteen, ducking away from me laughing and running. Martha in cap and gown crossing a stage. An ivy covered gravestone. Winston sitting in a car outside the fence at the Little League park watching my first time at bat. His face dark. His eyes peering out from under his hat giving me courage. I swung and barely hit the ball, but I got on first base and when I looked back, I could see Winston, his hands clutched together waving back and forth over his shoulders as he cheered for me.

“
I’ve got a beat,” said a distant woman’s voice.

Pain flashed through my body and my eyes snapped open. White light burned into my brain. I coughed and gasped for air. A mask came down over my face and I felt the cold rush of dry oxygen burning my throat and chest. I sucked it in as deeply as I could and felt the tingle of deprived muscles coming back to life and the cold prickle of sweat breaking out on my skin.

Someone touched a hot hand to my forehead. “Welcome back, Richard.”

Forty-five minutes later, I sat on the side of a gurney while a kid in a white coat shined a blinding light into my eyes and a police officer informed me that I was no longer in police custody.

The doctor, however, told me I’d have to stay until my blood pressure returned to normal. I could see Martha, Sydney, and Mom waiting anxiously in the hallway.

“
Is there anything around here I could put on?” I asked him adjusting the sheet over my legs.

“
I’ll see what I can do.”

“
Thanks.”

The women corralled the doctor as he left the room and I could see the relief on their faces as he brought them up to date on my condition. As she listened to what he had to say, Sydney dabbed a tissue at her cheeks, but never took her eyes off me. I winked and mouthed the words, “You look beautiful.” She smiled for a second, but then her face tensed and the tears began to flow again. I blew her a kiss and she blew one back.

After the doctor left, Mom stepped into the room, wrapped her thick arms around me, and cried as Sydney wheeled Martha in behind her. “You need to stop all that snooping around and let the police take care of this.”

“
I’ll try, Mom.”

“
I mean it!”

“
I do, too.”

Her tears smeared from her cheeks onto my bare shoulder as she hugged me again. “I love you, son.”

“
I love you, too, Mom.”

She wiped her tears off my shoulder. “I’ve got to go check on your father now.”

“
Okay. I’ll stop by later and tell you all about it.”

After kissing my forehead again, she left and Martha rolled closer scrutinizing me intensely.

“
You okay?”

“
Still alive.”

“
Try and keep it that way, will you?”

I smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got to take care of
you
, remember?”

She squeezed my hand. “See that you do. I’m going with Mom.”

I squeezed her hand. “I love you, Babe.”

“
I love you, too, Richie.”

Wheeling out, Martha winked at Sydney. “Later, girlfriend.”

Finally alone with me in my curtain cubical, Sydney stepped closer and stood at the edge of the bed. Her face was somber and tense.

“
Are you okay?” I asked.

She shook her head side to side. Her eyes got red and her jaw muscles tightened. I reached out and took her hand.

“
You look beautiful.”

She cleared her throat. “You do, too.”

“
Yeah, right. I’m covered in salve and my eyebrows are gone.” She giggled. “The doctor said I can’t leave until six. Would you wait here with me?”

She wiped at a tear that had broken free and run down her cheek. “If you want me to.”

I swung my legs up on the bed and laid back. “I’d like it better if you’d climb up here and lay down beside me.”

Sydney sat, then laid next to me. I curled my fingers into hers, touched the side of my head to hers, and closed my eyes. “This is nice.” She turned her head. Her lips brushed my cheek and I felt her breath on my face. “The doctor said he isn’t going to let me go until my blood pressure goes down,” I whispered. “Maybe your being this close to me isn’t such a good idea.” Sydney started to get up, but I pulled her back. I chuckled and she giggled.

At 6:20 a.m., the doctor returned with a pair of green surgeon’s scrubs, checked my blood pressure, and cleared me for discharge. I stuffed the charred remains of my clothes into the trash can, but my watch, wallet, and keys were still at the Wrightsville Beach Police Station.

Sydney pulled the van around and was waiting for me at the front entrance. “Where to first?”

“
Wrightsville Beach Police Station.”

I clipped the seatbelt around me, closed my eyes, and opened them again in what seemed to be only an instant later to find Sydney leaning over me brushing the hair out of my face. “Did I fall asleep?”

“
Just about the time you closed the door.” Her smile was radiant, her eyes glistening bright blue. I leaned forward and touched my lips to hers. The contact was electrifying—charged with hope, rejuvenation, and self-esteem. It was
delicious
and it was at that very moment that I knew I was in love with Sydney.

“
Wow,” I whispered.

“
Me, too,” she said gazing into my eyes.

“
What are you thinking?”

She smiled mischievously. “I think you need to hurry.”

I took her hand and kissed it. “I will.”

I opened the door and spotted Scott McGillikin standing at the front of the van staring at Sydney. As I pushed the door open, he turned away and stepped into the building. I looked back at Sydney. “Are you going to be okay?”

“
Just hurry.”

Inside the station house, I looked for Scott but did not see him. I moved to a counter and asked to get my things. I signed a form and was given a manila envelope containing my wallet, watch, and keys, and was told where to pick up the bike. I thanked him, turned, and came face to face with Scott. His jaw was set and his eyes were cold. I tensed, expecting him to take a swing at me, but he only stared.

“
Can we keep this on a professional level?” I asked. “Or will I need to get another attorney?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“
My sister used to be an investigative reporter for the
News and Observer.
About three years ago

while working on a story

she was thrown out a window and left paralyzed from the waist down.”

“
I remember something about that.”

“
They found a fingerprint on the window back then and she’s been looking for the person that it belongs to ever since.” His brows scrunched. “Well, yesterday, she found a print that matches it.”

“
And what does that have to do with your case?”

“
Well, we’re not sure, but
she
thinks there’s a good chance our cases are related. The print came out of that house at the beach that burned.”

“
How did she get that?”

“
I spotted someone in Ashleigh’s house the other night and followed him to that house.”

He studied me so hard that I wondered if he’d stopped breathing until he asked, “And she knows who it belongs to?”

“
No, but it
must
belong to someone associated with that house.”

“
But there’s nothing left of it now.”

“
Didn’t one of the men get out?”

“
Did one?”

“
The one they called Fat Albert? He was outside the house at the time of the explosion. Do you think we could get a copy of his fingerprints?”

Scott looked around at the policemen in their various stations and lowered his voice. “I’ll see what I can do. Call me later this afternoon.”